“Have you ever considered coming back?” When I don’t answer right away, he says, “You have considered it. Of course. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”
“Kind of, but I’m not here for a job. I’m here because I’m looking to unload Bauer’s Discovery collection.”
Folding his arms on the table, he leans forward. “You’re kidding me. The originals?”
I shrug. I keep telling myself I’m doing the right thing. That this won’t come back to haunt me. Tate will sell them to an international buyer with a vast private collection, and no one else will ever know they exist. I can’t trust Nelson to take such care with my future. “Sure. We can call them that.”
“You naughty girl.” He wets his bottom lip with his tongue, and I can see the hunger in his eyes. Other men get that look when they’re turned on. Tate gets that look when he thinks he’s going to score a priceless piece of art—or a convincing forgery. “And what exactly did you bring me here for?”
“Would you be interested in obtaining the collection?”
He bites his knuckle. “I want to grab this opportunity and run,” he says, “but instead I’m sitting here wondering what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“The worst kind of trouble,” I admit. “And this is the only way I know to get myself out of it.”
Saturday, September 8th
There’s a man at my door flashing his badge.
My day was long, made longer by the fact that I haven’t been able to get hold of Colton since he stormed out of my house two days ago. I’m so worried about him, and I’m afraid Nelson’s already done something terrible. Despite Tate’s interest in my forgeries, he refused to buy them. Instead, he insisted that it wasn’t worth putting myself at risk to pay off Nelson McKinley because Nelson can’t be trusted. He insisted that I call the police and tell them that Nelson’s alive and threatening to fake his own death and frame his son.
Tate was so worried about my safety and so convinced that Nelson would try to bring down Colton either way that he turned down the opportunity to more than double his investment on the Discovery collection.
My hands are shaking so hard. I just have to keep telling myself that I’m so close. It’s almost over. Everything will be okay soon. I wanted to talk to Colton before I called the detective, but I can’t wait any longer.
I open my door. “Hello?”
“Ellie, my name’s Detective Huxley. Thank you for calling.”
“Thank you for coming.” I pull open the door, and he gives me a soft smile as he walks in. I wrap my arms around myself. Everything will be okay soon.
“Where’s Colton?” he asks.
“I don’t know. He hasn’t been home in two days.”
The detective arches a brow. “Like father, like son?”
God, I hope not. I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“I understand you have some details on Nelson McKinley’s disappearance.”
“Nelson’s alive,” I blurt. I throw my hand over my mouth, but I’m already crying, tears leaking out of me just like the truth. “He’s trying to blackmail me, and I’m afraid he’s killed Colton or worse.”
“It’s hard to kill a man you can’t find,” he mutters.
“What?”
“I’m sure Colton’s fine.” The detective smiles at me. “Listen, I need some information from you. I need to know where Colton hid the hard drive.”
I frown. No one knows about the hard drive. I know I didn’t mention it when I called Huxley and asked to talk. I didn’t tell Tate about it or anyone else. “What hard drive?”
“The one with the evidence he has against his father.” He smiles and squeezes my shoulder. “It’s okay. Colton told me everything.”
I release a breath and feel the weight of these awful secrets lift off my shoulders. “When did you talk to him? I’m so worried about him.” Did Colton tell him about the hard drive? He didn’t even tell me. I found it locked in our safe deposit box after he stormed out. After my meeting with Tate, I decided to hide both the hard drive and the paintings. I can protect us from Nelson without turning over anything that would implicate Colton or myself.
The detective is wandering around the living room, looking under the couch, behind the TV. “Don’t you worry. I’ll be sure to track him down.” He points toward the hall. “Bedroom is this way?”
“I . . . Yes?”